The fragile shell of what was left of her heart shattered, and with a strangled cry, Claudia surged into his arms, groping for him, needing to anchor herself to him and the comforting warmth of his body.

With a moan, Julian pressed his mouth hard to hers, delving deeply, seeking refuge. With his hands, he cradled her jaw, holding her as if she was fragile . . . and God, she was fragile, on the verge of shattering with remorse, relief, and a euphoria that was sweeping her along on a tide, melding her against him.

He dragged his mouth across her cheek to her hair, his breath heavy in her ear as he pulled the pins from her hair. "Love me, Claudia."

The hint of desperation in his voice made her heart flail wildly. He didn't have to ask-she loved him, fiercely, deeply and still it was not enough. It could not be enough, she thought, and buried her face in his collar, breathing his scent, intoxicated by it as his hands pushed her cloak from her shoulders. She felt him shift, felt his arm behind her, and she instinctively threw her arms around his neck. He suddenly lifted her in his arms, carried her as he kissed her eyes, her forehead, her mouth, and laid her on the bed, coming over her, surrounding her in darkness and warmth. "Never leave me," he whispered, and descended hungrily to her mouth. Claudia eagerly sought the warmth of his body, clawing at the confining neckcloth, the waistcoat, and finally thrusting her hands deep inside his shirt to feel his hard chest and nipples.

Shuddering with her touch, his lips trailed down her neck to the top of her breasts, avidly tasting her until he could free her breast and bring it fully into his mouth. Instinctively, she arched into him, shamelessly indulging in the sweet sensation seeping through her skin to the fire burning in the pit of her stomach. With his mouth and hands he loved her, reverently caressed her and tasted her. Claudia returned his caress with one that grew more frantic, more insistent as a growing sense of elation and freedom overwhelmed her. With the one extraordinary exception of their wedding night, she had never allowed herself to feel him, to submerge herself entirely in the pleasure he gave her.

What had gone between them the last few weeks was seemingly forgotten, leaving nothing to inhibit their animal instincts. It was as if they were wild-her body felt feverish, the burning in the pit of her stomach now flaming, scorched every place he touched her, bewitched by unimaginable desire, obsessed with the need to feel all of him, to know love in its noblest and basest form.

Eagerly, anxiously, she pressed against him, her hands and mouth trailing across his hot flesh. With a guttural groan, Julian pressed his knee hard against the apex of her thighs. Claudia's hand drifted down his chest, along the wool of his trousers, stroking the hardness between his thighs.

When she cupped him, Julian tensed, arched his neck. "You will kill me yet," he rasped, and lowered his head, kissing her as she stroked him and felt him lengthen against her palm. Her fingers brushed against the buttons; she freed one, then another, and another, until his member sprang free, filling her hand with the heat of satin skin sliding over a marble core.

Suddenly, he jerked away from her, rearing back to discard his coat, and shirt. As he clawed at the pearl buttons on his shirt, he gazed down at her with dark intensity. "I can't wait. I have wanted you like this, just like this for so long that I can no longer remember a time I did not." Shoving out of his shirt, he caught her arm and yanked her up as one hand slipped behind her back, carelessly unfastening her gown so that he could pull it from her body.

When she wore nothing but a chemise and undergarments, Julian lowered her down, then lifted one ankle, flipping her shoe out into the dark room. His hand drifted up her calf, then to her ankle again, and slowly, carefully, he reached for the top of her stocking.

"If you had known how badly I wanted you like this," he murmured as he slowly rolled the stocking down, pausing to kiss the bare skin of her thigh, "you might very well have summoned the authorities." He tossed her stocking aside and kissed her toes, her ankle, her knee.

"If I had known you wanted me like this," she responded raggedly, "I would have summoned the authorities to bring you to me."

Julian chuckled against the soft inside of her knee, then bent her leg at the knee, pushing it aside so that he could skim his hand along her inner thigh and leave a path of white-hot sparks tingling in her skin. "From the moment I saw you in the Wilmington ballroom, I wanted to give you pleasure," he said, and leaned down, his breath brushing the springy curls between her legs.

The groan was hers, she realized. Julian smiled lazily, shifting downward so that he might kiss the level plane of her belly as he shoved her chemise aside. Claudia moaned; her body was a raging inferno, her mind numb to all but his hands, his lips, his voice. This was nothing like she had ever experienced; all her burdens, all the darkness that had surrounded her for the last few weeks was gone, vanquished by his kiss and his touch, his whisper of love. She caught his head in her hands as he dipped between her legs, his breath and tongue skirting over the inferno blazing within her, then probing the core of her heat.

"Julian!" she choked, but he seemed not to hear her, too intent on laving her with excruciating deliberateness. The inferno was suddenly blazing out of control, raging through her limbs and her mind. He was relentless, the silkiness of his touch a stark contrast to the intensity of it. Claudia pulled anxiously at his hair as her hips began to move against him, meeting each rush of his tongue until suddenly everything went white. She was flying and sinking all at once, a cry of pleasure on her lips.

Groaning, Julian lifted his head and positioned himself between her legs. He stared down at her, his black eyes almost indistinguishable from the dark of the room as he lightly pressed the tip of his manhood against her sheath, pulsing with need, sending dangerous shocks of pleasure through her. The muscles in his arms bulged with the exertion of holding himself just above her; his lips skimmed the tip of her nose, her mouth. "I love you," he whispered, and with the slightest move of his hips, slipped inside her.

"Desperately so," he added breathlessly as he slid deeper. "And I always will." He paused, withdrew slowly, only to begin the maddening slide into her all over again. Lost in the pleasure he was giving her, Claudia moved beneath him, angling her hips so that he might reach the very center of her being. His hand covered hers, sprawled somewhere above her head, squeezing it tightly as his stroke began to lengthen and quicken. Deep into her he slid, drawn in like the tide, then ebbing out of her, only to swell and rush her again. The experience was staggering; Claudia could feel the roar inside her, as if the surf was actually pounding and pounding against her until she was suddenly plunging headlong into a pool of rapturous oblivion, bathing in wave after wave of pleasure all over again.

She rocked beneath him, flowing upward to meet his body's bearing into her. Her hands roamed his body, feeling the corded muscle of his neck, his back, and then the heavy sacs that swelled in her hand. Julian's breath came as a hiss between clenched teeth; his strokes were suddenly urgent, burrowing deeper into her until it seemed to her they were one body, one being, impossible to discern where one heart ended and the other began. Claudia could feel her body tighten around him as she experienced another shattering release into the dark, and as she lifted her hips to meet his powerful thrust, he tossed his head back and cried out, convulsing violently into her womb, giving over his life's blood.

With a final shudder, he lowered himself to his elbows, panting heavily, and touched his forehead to hers. Neither of them spoke. Claudia tenderly brushed damp hair from his temple, ran her fingers down the dewy skin covering the muscles of his arm, silently praying that this extraordinary moment would never end, that what had happened here would never ever leave her.

They remained that way, silently observing one another like two lovers, until the cold air began to chill them. Wordlessly, Julian left her to light a fire. He came back to the bed, pulled back the linens, and ordered her beneath them with a strong warning that she was to remain just there until he came back. Shoving into his trousers, he disappeared, returning a short time later in a long velvet dressing gown, carrying a tray of bread and cheese and wine. They feasted in her bed, whispering their love to one another, laughing softly about nothing and everything. And then Julian made love to her again, slowly and deliberately, prolonging the ecstasy until she thought she would go quite mad.

When he at last slept, he held her tightly in his arms as if he feared she would leave him while he slumbered. Burrowing into his side, Claudia closed her eyes, dreamily reliving each exceptional moment. Nothing had come between them tonight-it was as if they held the world at bay for a moment in time, and it had been the most wonderful moment of her life.

But as she drifted asleep, she felt the distant tug of reality on her conscience, the faint warning that it was an illusion, that it could never remain so sweet.

Twenty-Six.

A S HIS MIND slowly began to cast off the veil of sleep, Julian reached for her, but found the bed empty. Forcing his eyes open, he pushed himself up to his elbows with a groggy harumph and looked around. Claudia was crouched in front of the hearth wrapped in his dressing gown, her hair wild and flowing down her back, poking at the dying embers of the fire he had left flaming a few hours ago.

"Come back to bed, my love. I will warm you," he said, yawning.

She flashed a smile at him over her shoulder. "The sun is up," she informed him, and continued poking at the embers.

Damn.

Still smiling, she stood up and carefully wiped her hands on the outer folds of his dressing gown. Julian beckoned her to him. "Come here," he said gruffly. She obeyed him, moving gracefully across a floor strewn with clothing and wine bottles and a tray of stale bread and hard cheese to sit on the edge of the bed. Julian came up on his elbow to nuzzle her neck.

Claudia giggled, squirming away from him. "That tickles," she pleaded.

Reluctantly, Julian lay back against the pillows, letting his hand slip inside the voluminous sleeve of his dressing gown and drift up the inside of her arm over skin that felt like silk. She seemed awfully pensive, he thought, especially after the night of extraordinary love-making they had shared. He himself was feeling rather randy at the moment. "What is it, Claudia?"

"Nothing!" she declared, a little too adamantly. She blushed immediately and looked down at her lap. "All right," she said slowly. "I will not pretend. Last night was . . . it was the most beautiful, wonderful thing that has ever happened to me."

His groin responded to that with a faint reverberation. "That, my darling, is an understatement," he said, and absently fingered the end of a long strand of her hair.

"And nothing will ever take it from us-"

"Or those nights yet to come," he murmured, chuckling softly when she turned an appealing shade of pink.

"It was . . . wonderful," she said again, absently plucking at the piping of the dressing gown.

A warning flagged in Julian's brain-he suddenly sat up, put one arm around her and with the other forced her to look at him. "But?"

"But. . . but there is so much yet between us. . . and . . . and the world," she muttered miserably.

Panic. Small but certain, it was panic that made his stomach dip as if they had just encountered a rut in the road. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying hard to keep his voice even.

She dropped her gaze again, and he stared at the thick lashes fanning her cheeks. "Well . . . there is the matter of Sophie's running away, and . . . and the, ah, scandal. And my father's position with the king, which I must stress is paramount to all else in his mind," she said with a helpless glance to the ceiling.

"I don't care!" he said roughly. "I love you, Claudia. As long as I have you-as long as you love me, I don't give a damn what Redbourne or anyone else thinks."

She lifted her gaze to him, blue-gray eyes brimming with sorrow. "Oh, Julian," she whispered. "I do love you. More than my life, I swear it."

"All right, then!" he blustered, but the uneasiness in him was swelling. "What more is there to say? Come to bed now," he said, and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her head to his shoulder, unwilling to hear any more of her dangerous talk.

"But. . . but eventually we must rise, and when we do, there is scandal and disgrace to be borne. And for me, I. . ." Her voice trailed off; she pressed her face into his shoulder.

"What?"

"I've lost all credibility," she mumbled helplessly.

The image of the house on Upper Moreland Street suddenly invaded his mind's eye and he realized that in the last weeks, as he had suffered through some of the darkest moments of his life, he had never once thought how it all affected Claudia. As he stroked her hair, he recalled the sense of wonder he had felt as he had walked through that little house, the burgeoning sense of pride. He thought of the dozens of drawings of a schoolhouse that littered her sitting room, the many little speeches he had heard her give at more than one supper party on the subject of girls' education. He had agreed with her to gain her attention, never really giving any thought to the cause itself. But those things had meant something to her, and he knew she was right-between the humiliation of their forced marriage and Sophie's ruination, she had no credibility.

Hell, even her own father would not keep her.

She sighed into his shoulder, and Julian turned his face to her, kissing her temple as his hand floated to the slender column of her neck. "It will be all right," he whispered, but the words sounded empty. Brushing the curls from her face, he kissed her cheek . . . he would give anything to put this to rights for her, anything to make it all right.

"It won't be all right-"

"It will," he insisted, cupping her face and staring down at her.

Claudia smiled tremulously. "It's the way of things, Julian."

She said it so calmly and with such innocent belief that his heart wrenched. "I will find a way to make it all right." He kissed her quickly, before she could see by the look in his eye that he had no idea how he would fix this, no idea at all.

They made love again, reaching another pinnacle of bliss together. But when Julian heard a stirring in the corridor, he reluctantly rose, knowing that he could not put off the inevitable and that he would, eventually, be forced to face the reality of their life, just as she had said, and all that had gone on between them.

In the days that followed it seemed that there was no going back to the moment in her darkened bedroom when she had fallen into his arms, finally surrendering to him. Oh, they made love just as fiercely and quite often, as if there was an unspoken need between them to make up for lost time. Claudia blossomed in his arms, allowing herself to experience the magic of love, returning his desire with a fervent passion of her own that suddenly knew no bounds. She delighted in his body, torturing him with light caresses and the tantalizing trace of her lips on every conceivable part of him. The climaxes they shared were marked by a furious intensity that left him reeling.

But he could not, no matter how hard he tried, recreate the same freedom or unfettered feeling of euphoria that there had been that night. Not with everything that weighed down on them.

For Julian, of course, it was the abominable task of seeking Sophie's divorce, and in the course of it, he learned firsthand how very contemptuous the ton as a whole could be. Men who had known his father acted as if they had never met him. Mothers who had once offered money, lands, and anything else they thought might entice him, now made their daughters walk in the other direction when he approached.

Julian didn't give a damn for himself, but he did for Ann, who, had it not been for her confinement, might have suffered the worst of it. And he gave a damn for Sophie. It would be a long time before she could return to England, if at all.

But it was Claudia who was suffering their downright abandonment.

He realized just how frightfully true it was when he found her going over her ledgers. Frowning, she tapped the pen against the page, unaware that he had entered the room. The moment she realized it, however, she quickly shut the book and shoved it away. When he asked, Claudia had waved her hand dismissively, insisting she was merely passing the time. He had dropped it, but much later, after she had left to call on Ann, he withdrew the books and had a look.

With the exception of the four debts he had called in on behalf of her school project, there had not been a single donation made in two months, in spite of the fact that she had gone out almost every day to call on potential benefactors. She never spoke of it, and tried to seem unaffected by it, but Julian could sense her deep disappointment. Moreover, the drawings of the school disappeared-one morning, as he passed her sitting room, he felt as if something was different, as if a chair or table had been moved. Then he realized that the dozens of drawings were gone.

He wondered about the house on Upper Moreland Street, recalling that Sophie had said that contributions were dwindling. But when he tried to talk to Claudia about it, she wouldn't discuss it, insisting it was nothing and pretending that it was not an important part of her life-an important part of her.

What Claudia did want to discuss was Sophie, which was not a topic Julian was very keen to resurrect. He did not like being reminded of Claudia's role in Sophie's downfall, and worse, privately he wasn't com-pletely certain he had forgiven her. He had forgotten it, certainly . . . but forgiven it? Yet she insisted, and one night, as they lay entwined in one another's arms, she forced the issue. Julian resisted as strongly as he could, but he was helpless against her soft voice and even softer lips. She pressed him until he was so very frustrated with her that he agreed yes, he was still angry and hurt by it.

Incredibly, Claudia had smiled. "At last, then!" she had exclaimed cheerfully, and in a sudden state of derangement, insisted that they speak of their respective feelings about what had happened, the reasons for their anger and distrust. He had done it for her, gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes quite frequently. But he had played along, listening to her ridiculous theory that he would have interceded and sent Sophie back to Stanwood, and the equally absurd notion that he was angry with her for doing what he had longed to do himself. Naturally, he argued with her, explaining to the little featherbrain the nonsense in her theories, and with a theatrical flare, even accepted her apology.

He would never admit, not to another living soul, that he had indeed felt quite relieved when it was all over.

Over the course of several nights, he was to learn much more, such as why Claudia thought him a rake. At the end of that discussion, he was rather convinced he was a rake. And much to his great surprise, he learned how the beastly little girl Claudia had been adored him. Amazingly, he had never even sensed it. That, Claudia huffed, was his greatest fault-he was obviously rather thickheaded when it came to a woman's affections. Later that evening, however, she begrudgingly admitted-while she lay naked in his arms-that he might have improved a tad bit on that front.

The most miraculous thing of all was that Phillip was finally beginning to fade away, and for that, Julian was eternally grateful. It did not happen easily--Julian had never been able to shake the sense that Phillip was watching him with Claudia. He must have said enough for her to gather what bothered him, because she had finally forced him to sit one night and listen to what had gone on with Phillip. Julian did not want to hear it. . . but neither could he say no. He had listened with morbid fascination as she spoke of the increasing distance between her and Phillip, the drunkenness, the knowledge of his mistress. All of it surprised him-but she shocked him to his core when she told him of the last time she had ever seen Phillip, the assault on her person . . . and how that memory had overwhelmed her when she had seen Sophie's bruises, pushing her to act.

But Phillip's ghost did not truly begin to fade until she assured him with her words, and then with her body, that she never really loved him, not like this, and kissed away any lingering doubts.

Slowly but surely, Julian realized she was leading them through the maze of their past, putting events and perceptions in their proper place before locking them away forever, away from the living. With each passing day, they chiseled away a little more at the fear and doubts between them, growing more secure in one another. Julian reveled in it-for the first time in his life, he felt as if God was truly smiling on him, granting him the one thing that could make him ecstatically happy.

If only he could make her as happy.

For all her confessions to the contrary, Claudia did not sparkle as she once had. No matter how much she tried to convince him she was quite all right, there was something in her eyes that had been dulled, as if a light had gone out that could not be rekindled. No matter what he did, or how hard he loved her, he could not put the light back in her eyes.

He would die trying, he decided.

Having successfully petitioned the Doctor's Commons in Sophie's suit, the first step of an arduous journey to divorce, Julian returned home one afternoon in a state of elation-at last, he could see an end to this drama. No one blocked his petition-Stanwood had left London with his fifty thousand pounds, apparently convinced Julian could ruin him as he had threatened. Eugenie reported that Sophie grew stronger every day, that an inner peace had taken hold of her, and that she followed Claudia's example by spending her time in the villages, working with children and women less fortunate than she.

The sun was shining when Julian arrived home; anxious to write Eugenie with the latest news, he passed his butler asleep on a bench in the foyer, patting his shoulder as he walked briskly to his study. As he strode past the morning sunroom, he caught a glimpse of someone inside, and paused. Seated beside his wife on a settee was a woman Julian had never seen before. Claudia had her arm around her as the woman dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief. The woman wore a drab brown gown that had been patched along the hem. Her hands were rough and red; and although most of her hair was stuffed under a cap, limp gray strands of it fell around her ears. Claudia looked at her with great concern, seemingly oblivious to the difference in their rank, as if they were of equal class. As if they were sisters.

And in a rare moment of absolute brilliance, Julian instantly realized what he had to do and absently wondered why he had not thought of it before. With a faint smile, he continued his brisk walk to the study.

Claudia awakened Tinley sometime later, waiting patiently for him to rouse himself before she asked that a carriage be brought round. She returned to the little sitting room where Bernice Collier sat, her hands in a tight ball on her lap. The poor woman, who had the terrible misfortune of being penniless and with child, had rather miraculously found her way to St. James Square-the friend or sister of a servant somewhere, she had mumbled. It had taken her a quarter of an hour before she could swallow her shame and finally admit why she had come looking for Claudia. Having been abandoned by the child's father, she had no work, no funds, and no place to turn. Frightened to death by her predicament, she had sought Claudia in desperation, only to be turned away by Tinley and a footman. By chance, Claudia had seen her through the window, and had come out on the drive, beckoning her inside.

Now, she helped Miss Collier to her feet, put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "You will very much like the house on Upper Moreland Street," she said as she guided Miss Collier to the door of the sitting room. They paused in the foyer and Claudia asked a footman to fetch her blue cloak. When he returned, she wrapped the garment around Miss Collier's shoulders, smiling at the woman's round-eyed look of surprise.

"Oh, no, I can't mu'um-"

"You must have a warm cloak, Miss Collier," Claudia responded firmly. "I will not allow you to refuse it."

The woman's eyes brimmed with tears then. "It's true what they say about you, milady. You are an angel."

Claudia laughed wholeheartedly. "I am hardly that, you may trust me!" She pressed a small, folded piece of paper in the woman's palm. "Give this to Mrs. Conner when you arrive. You won't find a greater friend, I assure you."

"The carriage, madam," a footman said from somewhere behind her, and Miss Collier very timidly went out onto the drive, her mouth gaping open as she looked into the interior of the plush carriage.

Claudia stood on the stoop and watched the carriage pull out onto the Square, feeling an overwhelming sadness. She so longed to do more for women like Miss Collier, but could scarcely manage to keep the little town house on Upper Moreland Street afloat as it was-the folly in her personal life had seen to that.

Damn it, but she could no longer garner enough in donations to keep a pig afloat. What little had trickled in had dragged to a complete halt two weeks ago when that black-hearted Dillbey had written a letter to the editor of the Times in response to a raging debate on women's suffrage. He argued that women who touted the same rights as men meant no good by them.

". . . Witness, then, our own Lord Redbourne's daughter, Lady Kettering. If granted, her call for the right to organize labor to protect women and children in the factories would undoubtedly lead to a call for more rights that, in Lady Kettering's mind, perhaps, would include promiscuity in hothouses and defying a husband's legal rule. Gentlemen, we cannot allow feminine wailing and gnashing of teeth to cloud our sound reasoning. The platform is too radical. . ."

Since that article had appeared, even her most ardent supporters had ceased their contributions. She could hardly blame them; the threat of censure was quite real. Unfortunately, the ton had a memory like an elephant.

When Miss Collier's conveyance disappeared from sight, Claudia sighed wearily and retreated inside the house in which she had lived like a virtual prisoner since the news about Sophie had spread.

Her misery did not abate in the next few weeks.

Ann gave birth to a son just before the Christmas season, and Claudia had never seen Julian quite so jubilant. He held the baby in one arm, beaming at him, reluctantly giving him over to Victor when he asked, then shifting his beaming smile to her. Claudia had inwardly cringed-the whole cheery scene only made her sadder. Everything seemed broken to her; she felt useless, as if she could not do something even as simple as conceive.

For the first time in her life, she felt aimless, as if she was drifting through every day with no particular destination. The only bright spot in her dreary world was, of course, Julian. And as grateful as she was for that-she thanked God for him every day-she had been so certain his love would buoy her up in the worst of times. But strangely, the more she felt his love, the more she felt her own loss of purpose. She had nothing to offer him, could only seem to cling to him like a child. She had lost her bearings and she did not know how to get them back. Every day, she sank a little farther into the black hole of futility, struggling to find a lifeline.

The afternoon of Christmas Eve was dark; gray fog hovered just above the streets of London. Claudia stood at the long bank of windows in the gold salon, staring out into the Square. She had invited her father for supper but he had declined, said he was quite content to make a feast of it at his club. Ann and Victor, too, had declined, as Ann was understandably fearful of taking little Victor out into the cold. They would call in the morning after church services, thereby leaving Claudia and Julian alone on Christmas Eve. Completely alone, it seemed, as Julian had granted the servants at both Kettering House and Kettering Hall the evening free, as well as Christmas Day.

She glanced up at the leaden sky, then closed her eyes. I will not allow melancholia to ruin this occasion for Julian. At the very least, he deserved her spirit during the most festive of seasons. If she could only summon it! Julian had been very patient with her, accepting of her excuses lately for her lack of spirit. He deserved so much more than she was able to give him. Claudia glanced at the package resting on a small table next to his favorite chair. It was her Christmas gift for him, the one thing she had managed to do recently, and even that had required the help of her father.

"Ah, here you are." Julian's voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket, and Claudia smiled, turning to the door where he stood. Leaning against the frame, one leg crossed over the other, his arms folded across his chest. He was grinning; from across the room, she could see the glitter in his raven eyes. "Beautiful as always," he remarked.

Claudia glanced down at her gown of green and gold brocade.

"I am the most fortunate man on earth, I think," he said, shoving away from the door and strolling toward her. "My heart can scarcely bear it."

"You are a ruthless charmer, sir," she said, laughing softly as he slipped an arm around her waist. He smothered her laugh with a fierce kiss that left her feeling almost weightless, and when he at last lifted his head, he chuckled at her look of pure intoxication.

"I've a gift for you," she muttered dreamily.

"You, my darling, are the perfect Christmas gift."